


The desire for mortality

by bluejaymorse



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, M/M, Magic, Murder, Not a lot though, but only unnamed characters, felix has longish hair, felix is a witch that kills, i promise the fic will deliver, people think felix is a woman, so like fair warning lol, sylvain is also very horny, the summary doesn’t make it justice, witch!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejaymorse/pseuds/bluejaymorse
Summary: The second son of the king, Sylvain, knew well the stories of the witch that lived in the forest. Her castle tall in the abandoned fortress town. The royal family had placed a reward on her head, and they had been hunting her for two thousand years. Everyone who went, ended up dead. It was a death wish. A suicide mission.Sylvain probably shouldn’t have gotten anywhere close to the castle, yet, curiousity got the better of him.Getting captured by the witch was already surprise enough. But when the witch was actually a man, the prettiest man ever to exist. Sylvain wouldn’t have minded dying by his hand.





	The desire for mortality

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve enjoying writing this so much! I hope you enjoy reading it!  
Sadly, no beta, so pardon the spelling mistakes. 
> 
> dedicated to: @/wolweroc on instagram

The legends of the witch that lived in the forest was what parents told their children at night to scare them into sleeping. The stories of her curses where why everyone whore religious regalia on them every time they walked outside the homes. And the reward set on her head was the reason the city’s men kept disappearing and dying every time they went in the quest for the head of the witch. People from far away lands travelled far and wide for a chance to be the brave warrior that slayed the evil witch. It was a suicide quest for anyone who attempted it. For two-thousand years, none had come back alive.

The legend has it that the first king of the kingdom was the only one to make it out alive and tell everyone what he saw as the witch tore his friends’ life with dark spells. That he fought relentlessly until the dawn, and when he was the only one left alive, the witch took pity on him, relinquishing in her victory, and let him go, taking with her his hand. 

In truth, the first king hadn’t seen her at all. As he fought, whenever a spell was thrown he could only see a shadow of the caster. A short, slim figure with flowing hair; slender fingers and a profile that shined maliciously with the dark reflection of the spells. He couldn’t see her well, a part of him wished it did; to have a more perfect image of what she looked like engraved in his mind. When he went back to the kingdom, he had his own wizards create spells to cancel her magic; he wanted the witch to be brought back to him, alive. 

During the hundreds of years that went by, the orders had started to shift, and to the present day, whoever brought back her head on a spike, would get a reward of 100,000 gold, and a knighthood, no matter your birth. This incited many commoners to go risk their lives in a futile quest. 

If there was anyone who knew the futility of this task better than anyone, was the royal family and their wards. Sylvain, the second son of the King didn’t believe the stories. He believed there was a witch, yes, but that she ate the children and terrorized the towns at night and whatever fables and stories everyone told their kids, it wasn’t true. There were books in the library, telling the stories of the knights and the witch, but what caught his eye when he was younger, was the diary of the first king, read only by members of the royal family. 

His ancestor was infatuated with whoever this witch was, they way he wrote of her made even 21 year old Sylvain uncomfortable and ashamed of being related to such a man. There was nothing he could do except watch his own men and people scurry along to the woods, only to disappear forever. 

“You read too much on that witch.” his elder brother, Miklan, said as he leaned on the door frame of the study room. A room reserved for the princes so that they may improve their studies. Sylvain never used it, always preferring to walk around town, flirt, maybe train a little, but when he wanted to read his own collection of books, he knew he wouldn’t be bothered in the study room. Well, only if you didn’t count Miklan. “You do know that father plans to send you to investigate the castle soon, right?” 

“He spoke to me about it, yesterday.” said Sylvain, closing his book as he turned to look at Miklan, eyes narrowed. They didn’t exactly hate each other, they were brothers after all, but that didn’t mean their relationship wasn’t rocky. 

“All I’m saying is that you should be out there training and not reading. The witch is not gonna be impressed by your knowledge of her story.” 

“You went to the castle once, didn’t you, Miklan?” Sylvain stood up, reaching for his gloves on the table, turning his back at Miklan once more. 

“Once, it was to gather information about the damned castle the witch lives in.” said Miklan, rolling his eyes. “Good luck on your mission.” his brother turned around and walked away, leaving Sylvain alone once again. 

With a heavy sigh, Sykvain brought his hand to his face and rubbed at his nose. Miklan was right, and he didn’t want to admit it, but he had forgotten; Or maybe, he chose to forget. Whenever the royal family reached the age of maturity, they were to investigate the abandoned fortress town and surrounded the castle. No one knew why they did it, it was once again, a useless tradition. Some came back alive, some didn’t, it was by chance. They were instructed never to challenge the witch, to not invoke her rage. 

Now, just one week ago, Sylvain had just reached the age of twenty-one, and his father informed him he was to finally go to the abandoned fortress town. To say he wasn’t scared was a lie. He had trained for this day, or at least, he was forced to train. To be ready in case the witch presented herself to him and kill him right then and there. Yet, he didn’t want to face the witch. The way Sylvain saw it, she had been bothered her entire life. It didn’t take away the fact that she was dangerous. 

He closed the book, put it back on the shelf, and walked to his room. Tomorrow he had a heavy day, and he wanted to get over with it as soon as he could. All that was left was to get ready. 

And to not die. 

For Felix, life had been nothing short of… infuriating. Cursed with immortality and solitude, and now an entire kingdom had a reward placed on his head. Not to mention the fact they thought he was a woman just because he had been too lazy to cut his hair. He wandered the halls of the empty, dark castle, just waiting till the next weak fool approached his door with a death wish. A death wish he didn’t mind granting. They were the ones who traveled the forest in search of him to kill him. All Felix was doing was defending himself. 

At first it was hard. Using his magic to end the lives of others, just because they were foolish enough to challenge him. Seeing their bodies drop on the floor, face drained of color and chests unmoving, and seeing it was all his doing. It pained him, and even if Felix didn’t want to admit it. It hardened him. He kept telling himself, if he was cursed to be above humans, then he was going to act like it. He wasn’t going to let the bodies of millions trouble him. 

He started putting their rotting corpses in front of the castle as a warning, trying to swarm them off. It didn’t work. It just invited them more. Everyone wanted to be the one who brought the head of the all-powerful witch to the feet of the king. Everyone wanted to be a knight. Everyone wanted the money to live comfortably the rest of their lives. Everyone wanted to be a hero. If becoming heroes meant Felix letting them take his life, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them. 

The damned king did nothing but send soldiers and commoners who had no hope of surviving Felix’s blade and spells. He was a coward. Weak, pathetic, and useless. Every now and then, a member of the royal family would walk around Felix’s town. They would poke and pride at the bodies and skeletons of the recently killed. They would look at the castle with distaste, fear, and anger in their eyes. But they would never do much as approach the castle. They knew what awaited them, and they weren’t as foolish as the ones who did dare. Felix wanted nothing more than to walk out there himself and run them through with his sword. He wanted to end their damned bloodline. If only he could leave the castle. 

Felix still remembered the first king. He had been just a boy those five thousand years ago, and for that, Felix felt compassion, and let him live. If only he had known him and his descendants would get a disgusting obsession with him and his death; he would’ve killed him on the spot. Felix learned his lesson. All that approached would end up dead. 

That morning had been a normal one. As normal as it got on Felix’s castle. Standing on his balcony, drinking tea, looking out into the forest. On the guardrail of the balcony sat his teacup, getting cold as his mind drifted and forgot the drink. He was deep in thought with no distractions, when down in the streets of town he heard movement. The galloping of hooves, and once he saw it, it wasn’t hard to miss. 

A mop of the same reddish orange hair. The color that had hunted him for two thousand years. The royal family that had made his life hell only because he made the mistake of letting their ancestors live. They never approached the castle, they knew better. They always came to poke, prod, look, judge, glare, and leave. If Felix we’re capable of leaving his castle, he would’ve killed him right in that second. But they never came close enough for Felix to reach. 

The young man sat on horseback, the sacred Lance of Ruin in his hands, and he looked around at the houses The chilly wind of the forest blew in his face, making his nose a crimson color, his wild hair blowing with the wind. Felix saw as he pulled up his scarf closer to his nose to cover it. 

What surprised Felix was that instead of looking around the towns and the thousands of skeletons, he rode straight towards the castle. The prince didn’t spare a glance to anything else, inching closer towards the castle as if he were in a trance. 

Felix left the porch, his cup of tea forgotten on the rail as he almost ran towards the entrance. Whatever this prince was doing, it wasn’t good. The sound of his shoes on the marble floor for some reason made him more anxious, as if he was running out of time and he needed to stop this prince as fast as he could. 

Once he reached the entrance door, he picked up his sword, and slammed open the door; coming face to face with the scared prince. 

The wild haired prince didn’t have his lance in hand, as soon as Felix opened the door, he raised his arms in surrender. Felix didn’t falter. He held his sword pointed at him, with a dark spell on the tip on his tongue, ready to be uttered and ready to end this prince’s life. Oh how sweet it would feel to finally have killed one of the royal family. The family that had tormented him for two-thousand years. 

“Please! I- I did not come here with the intent of harming you! I ask of you, please don’t kill me.” well, that was unexpected. 

Felix narrowed his eyes, confused. What did this prince plan? For all Felix knew this was an elaborate plot to trick Felix into lowering his guard for him to finally strike. Not like it would do him damage, but he never ran the risk of others knowing his secret. Many others had tried to trick him before striking. Often, by flirting with him, thinking he was a woman. It sickened him. 

The prince however, his hands were over his head, shaking wildly as he closed his eyes to avoid contact with the witch. His lance stayed put away, and he didn’t make a move to pick it up. 

The silence, in reality, probably lasted around five seconds, but Felix thought long and hard. If he were to  
kill the prince right at that moment, nothing would change, he would probably still be tormented for thousands of years to come. But if he captured the prince, used him as leverage, a way to finally get his freedom. It would change everything. Maybe he could finally spend an eternity of peace, without having annoying little bugs to crush every time he wants to sleep.

Felix lowered his sword, and changed the spell he was about to kill him with for a much easier, adequate one. 

A sleeping spell. 

Muttering the spell, a short , cut-off whimper was heard, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor. Both the horse and the prince had fallen asleep. His face shifting from fear to peaceful slumber, Felix put the sword back on the hilt, and started to drag the prince out from under the horse, his leg had caught the brunt of the fall, and got stuck under the heavy, armored horse. Felix groaned, this was going to be harder than expected. Maybe he shouldn’t have put the horse to sleep too, but too late to go back. Once the prince was finally free, he dragged him to the entrance hall. It had been millennia since anybody else but Felix has stepped foot on these halls. To have a prince of the family who had made the past two millennia a living hell, it felt wrong. 

Felix decided to drag him out of the entrance hall, and instead of walking upstairs, to the hundreds of rooms of the castle, he walked downstairs. To the dungeons. He wouldn’t have to worry about the prince if the prince was chained in the dungeons. And for a family who dedicated itself to Felix’s demise, the dungeon felt more than a perfectly fitting place. 

It was a long walk, and dragging a sleeping man down the stairs proved to be more difficult than he initially thought. If the prince weren’t asleep because of a spell, he would’ve definitely woken up. Felix had lost count of how many times he accidentally smacked the prince’s head against the walls, floor, and steps. 

When he finally reached the dungeons, he realized that the place was crawling with rats, spiders, and many other bugs that would make the prince’s stay nothing short of… agonizing. And Felix couldn’t care less. He wasn’t keeping the prince here as a guest; Felix was keeping the prince as a captive. A prisoner. Leverage, to get his peace and solitude back. 

Felix reached for the key hanging on the walls, covered in cobwebs but he didn’t mind. Opening the cell door, he dragged the prince, this time by the arms, and chained his wrists the the chains hanging from the wall. 

The head of the prince rolled down, still sleeping heavily. Felix crouched down, and took the prince’s head by the chin, raising it so he could look at it closely. He looked young, face smooth, not a trace of facial hair yet. His hair parted by the side, even if it was incredibly messy due to the wind, and from being dragged around the floors of the castle and the dirt of the dungeons. 

Felix grimaced. If he was telling the truth and didn’t mean to harm him, that just meant he was gathering information. Then why go to the castle? Why risk his life like that? Did he just not care, or was he just curious? A thrill for danger maybe? The lack of answers made Felix angry. He disliked being in the unknown. It wasn’t like he would get answers anytime soon. Even if the prince woke up, Felix wouldn’t be down there, making him company. 

Felix stood up, dusted his knees, and walked away, leaving the door to the cell opened. It wasn’t like the prince would be able to get out of those chains anytime soon. Before leaving, he made sure to light the candles, it was dark and humid down in the dungeons. Felix wasn’t going to torture the prince that much, after all. 

Felix spent the rest of his afternoon dealing with the sleeping horse on the front. He stripped the animal from his heavy armor, the bags provisions, and the damned Lance of Ruin that royal family prided itself so much in having. Setting all the objects aside in the entrance of the castle, deciding to carry them inside as soon as he got the horse to warmth, Felix stood up. Waking up the horse as peacefully as he could, not wanting to rile up the majestic animal. His thoughts drifted over to his father, to the once upon a time where his family was still alive. Felix remembered his father teaching both him and his brother how to ride horses. His brother had been a natural, yet he never possessed such skill. Horses hated him, or at least, that was the conclusion he came to. 

The horse up with a tired whiny, and Felix wasted no time in helping him rise up. He was docile and disoriented, and so Felix helped him to the stables. The stables that had been empty as far as Felix could remember. Unlike the dungeons, Felix did make an effort to keep the stables in shape, even if no horses would be residing in them. Until that day. He had straws of hay and clean water ready. He lit up the fireplace, to keep him warm during the night, and left. 

Night approached faster that time of the month, and after taking everything the prince had brought with him inside, Felix walked to his bedroom. That night, he didn’t sleep. He focused and looking at everything the prince had brought. Stacks of food, water, parchments of paper containing what seemed to be letters, and books, annoyingly, in a language he couldn’t read. He wouldn’t even be able to entertain himself by reading whatever this prince brought with him. How long had it been since he read a book that wasn’t from his library? Just how far has humanity evolved that they now had books written in different languages. The kingdom this prince was from wasn’t that far away, half a day on horseback if you knew the forest well enough. 

Felix grumbled and blew out the candle. He needed to sleep, too much had happened that day and what he needed was rest. Tomorrow he would deal with the prince, and the letter to the king. 

The next day, Felix woke up before the sun started to rise. Darkness still flooded his room, but he could feel the morning approaching. He rolled in his bed for a few minutes, not wanting to leave it, but he had to ultimately stand up. Shedding his sleeping clothes, his hand reached for the first thing he found in the drawers, the same blue robes he wore around the house. He skipped his vanity, not bothering to put his hair up for that day. It was cold and his hair provided warmth for his ears, as weird as that sounded. Looking at himself in the mirror, his expression was unchanging. He had stopped caring what he looked, he had stopped caring about his hair, he seldom cut it; maybe that’s why people thought he was a woman whenever they so much as saw his silhouette. He grumbled. 

Putting his sword on his hilt, grabbing a satchel where he kept his herbs, crystals, and books, he walked out of the room, ribbon tie around his wrist for if he wanted to tie his hair up sometime throughout the day. 

Felix’s thoughts drifted over to the prince in his dungeons. He had to be awake, probably scared, fearing for his life. After all, the blood thirsty witch had him in her dungeons, for all he knew. Yet Felix couldn’t bring himself to go down there. When had been the last time he spoke civilized with a person? Probably ten thousand years, probably more. 

“Stop thinking about the stupid prince, Felix.” he muttered, speaking to himself. He sat on his dining hall. A long table with 110 chairs that had sat empty for as long as he could remember. The chandelier hanging lighting his breakfast. Simple bread, butter, and a piece of steak he had made the other night. Cooking proved to be a hassle whenever his mind moved quickly from topic to topic. But now, only one thought ate away his thoughts. 

The prince in the dungeons. 

He had to be awake. Maybe he was calling for help. Was he hurt? Those shackles weren’t the best, and if he struggled hard enough, he could hurt his own wrists. Felix gripped the utensils hard, why was he thinking of the stupid prince in worry? Why was he wondering if he was hurt? He shouldn’t care if the prince was hurt. That prince was his enemy. 

“All gods be damned.” Felix slammer the fork down on the table and stood up. Leaving the chair out, walking too fast out of the dining hall, and to the door that led down to the dungeons. He didn't bother to lower the sound of his stomping, or to try to calm his anger. All he needed was to see the prince; maybe that would calm his thoughts. Maybe seeing he was finally awake would give confirmation to his thoughts as to what the prince was doing. 

Before opening the door, he lit up a torch. It was still dark outside, and besides the candle he left at the corner of the cell, there was no source of light down there. Twisting the knob the the dungeons, he pushed forward. His ears captured the desperate rattling of chains that stopped abruptly as soon as the door slammed against the wall. A cold chill swept across his face, making the fire on the torch flicker but not die. Felix looked at the steps, and placed the torch in front of him to light the narrow, slippery and humid steps. 

The crack of his shoes echoed against the walls of the dungeons in a deafening, torturing sound. Felix walked at his own pace, not wanting to slip or step on something he didn’t want to touch; like a rat or a hairy spider. 

He reached the end of the steps, and in from, he saw the door to the cell, open as he left it. The candle still flickered. It was magic, the wax didn’t melt. Even then, it didn’t give enough light to see; not like Felix’s torch. 

“I want,” the voice of the prince made Felix move his gaze from the candle, to him. His red hair stood in all directions, strands falling over his eyes. Eyes that looked at Felix. “to speak, to the witch.” his voice was tired, shaky, hoarse. Maybe he did scream for help, and Felix didn’t hear a thing. 

Felix turned, not giving the prince his answer, and placed the torch on the wall. “You are speaking to him.” Felix placed one of his hands on his waist, while the other rested against the strap of his satchel. 

“You? But,” the prince’s tried to stand up. A futile task. “But you’re not, I mean, well, you are a,” he swallowed. 

“I am not a woman?” Felix glared. “Were you expecting a lanky old witch. Were you expecting a decrepit monster? Sorry to disappoint, your highness.” maybe he could have worded that better. Maybe Felix could have tried to be nice. Yet, Felix didn’t want to be nice. Felix hated the blood that this prince carried, and he was not the type to pretend niceties. In fact, Felix felt delighted when the prince visibly flinched at the venom that poured from Felix’s words; especially ‘your highness’. 

“I- No, it’s not what I- Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” the prince once again tried to stand up, his wrists and both arms twisting in the most uncomfortable ways whenever he so much as made the effort, making the prince slump back down. His waist didn’t reached all the way to the floor, meaning he couldn’t sit comfortably, and the chains were too high for him to be able to stand up. These dungeons were made to keep the wrists of criminals in the most uncomfortable positions, some even dislocated their shoulders when kept in the position for too long. “I guess the legends mislead me. I apologize for my bluntness.” 

Felix said nothing. He crossed his arms. “You said you wanted to speak to the witch. What do you want?” 

“Let me go, please, I-” Felix turned around and reached for the torch. He didn’t have time to listen to begs and pleads. “No! Please! I beg of you! This is a mistake!” Felix reaches for his sword in record time and pointed it at the prince, stepping closer, just enough for the tip of the sword to come in contact with the prince’s throat. 

The prince swallowed hard, and Felix presses the sword harder, slowly dragging the tip of it to Sylvain’s chin, and raising his head upwards so his eyes would met Felix’s. The prince breathed heavily, with difficulty, as the sword in his chin proved difficult for him to make any movement at all. 

“You want to talk of mistakes?” Felix growled. “My biggest and only mistake was to let your damned ancestor live. Only for him and his entire line of worthless descendants like you to hunt me down like I am a trophy.” Felix slowly started pushing the prince’s chin upwards, making him slowly stand up in a very uncomfortable position. The prince whimpered. “Me having you here in my dungeons is not a mistake? It is a way of me finally gaining my peace.” he pulled the sword back, and Sylvain slumped down once again. 

There was silence after the sound of Felix placing his sword back on the sheath. “Will you kill me?” 

“Later on, yes.” Felix said, remorseless. The prince’s hands started shaking. “For now, you are leverage. A means to an end.” 

“Why not now?” The prince asked, his face looking down. He feared facing the witch, and rightly so. “If I am understanding. You’re using me as a way to convince my father to leave you be. You could easily kill me now and send the letter anyway. I brought with me the Lance of Ruin, and he cares madly about that lance.” 

“Your father is not stupid. He will need proof.” Felix walked out of the cell, leaving the door open once again. “You will write the letter yourself, after that, you will die.” 

“I am sorry… for everything my bloodline has put you through it is not fair.” the prince muttered. 

“It is too late for apologies, young prince.” Felix took the torch and made his way towards the stairs. His mind feeling more at ease now that he knew how his prisoner fared. Before he could walk away though, the prince spoke once again. 

“Please wait, if I am to die, please grant me one final wish.” The prince’s voice sounded pleading, desperate. Felix stopped walking, waiting for him to make his request. “I wish to know your name. All my life I’ve read the legends of who you supposedly were, but… there was never a name. The curiosity has eaten me alive every night I’ve laid to rest.” 

Felix stayed quiet for a bit. It made no difference whether he told this prince his name or not. He held no power over him if he knew his name. And even he wasn’t that cruel. 

“Felix.” 

“Sylvain.” 

“I did not ask for yours.” 

“I wanted to give it to you anyway.” 

And with that, Felix walked up the stairs. The last sound his ears caught was the soft whisper of his name in the prince’s lips. Adoration and wonder. It sickened him. It angered him that the prince had told him his name. Now he wasn’t simply a prince, a means to an end, or a prisoner. He had a name. An identity. 

Felix realized the only reason he didn’t mind killing all the other thousand men that came to his doorstep, was because they were simply faces. Not him. Not Sylvain. 

Unknown to Felix, Sylvain hung there, hungry and uncomfortable. He was lucky, he got to keep his robes, the only downside was the armor weighing down. The shackles on the wrists were rusted, they scraped his wrists, and he was sure if he could get out of it, his wrists were red, bleeding, probably infected. Every time he tried to move or get more comfortable, he could feel the shackles digging into the bones of his wrist, and he couldn’t help but whimper. 

His predicament was all his own damn fault. He had his orders, and he ignored them completely. He was supposed to look around, to check for any anomalies, for any other form of live. He was instructed to bring provisions in case he needed to stay overnight, advised to bring a warmer coat than those he usually wore since the temperature dropped incredibly as soon as one enters the gates of the fortress town. And most importantly, he was instructed to not go anywhere near the castle. It was a known fact that the witch only attacked those who got inside the gates of the castle. Yet, his own curiosity got the best of him. 

Sylvain saw the imposing walls, calling to him. He had studied every crevice of the outside of those stone walls from books, from paintings and drawings and sketches that the royal family kept in the library. Seeing it in person was a whole other story. He was fascinated by the stories, by the wondrous size of the dark, grim castle. It looked abandoned, as if inside those walls didn’t recide the witch of legends who could kill anyone without batting an eye. 

Before he knew it, he stood in front of the open doors, eyes closed as he raised his hands in surrender. He should’ve known better than to cross those gates. The witch was always watching, or so they said. The records of people who saw her slender figure in the high balconies, hair blowing in the wind unlike her still, imposing figure. And before he could say anything else but plead for mercy, he fell asleep before his head could even hit the floor. 

When he woke up, no matter if he kept his eyes closed or opened, there was darkness. Not a window for him to find out if it was day or night. Not a candle to light up the corners of whatever dungeon he was being kept in. No torch to light the long balls that every dungeon had. All he had was the sound of rattling chains, the short, fast steps of the rats and mice, and the ever aching pain on his shoulders. He had no idea how many days had passed, if he was out for a few hours, days, or worse, weeks. His stomach growled and his neck hung low. 

He had called for help, assistance, anything. Surely there were guards around. No one, not even a witch, could live in solitude for two-thousand years, and a dungeon always had guards or any cell keepers. No one came. To say that Sylvain had been on the brink of despair and tears would be an understatement. He was raised in comfort and lavish keeps; no matter how fascinated he was with the witch, it didn’t change the fact that she was still responsible for thousands upon thousands of deaths. Becoming one more of the count of murdered, it scared him to no end. 

When he heard the door open, even if he couldn’t see the light source, he felt a wave of relief and fear had washed over him at the same time. A man with long hair stood in front of him. To say that he was the prettiest man Sylvain had ever laid eyes on would be a lie, an understatement. He was the prettiest man to ever set foot on earth, Sylvain was sure of that. 

He expected the man to work for the witch, the lady of the house most likely, only to find out the so called witch had been a man all along. Two thousand years of history and diaries and knowledge recovered only to be wrong by the gender of such a powerful being. 

The hatred that his eyes held over Sylvain, it was downright alarming. If he wanted, he could end Sylvain’s life without having to pay a single finger on him. It was fascinating, he just hoped he wouldn’t direct such power towards Sylvain. And Sylvain understood, he wasn’t going to take away the fact that the witch’s feelings towards him weren’t justified. But if everything could be solved with words instead of slaughter, then he wouldn’t be so scared. He looked firm on his stance, though. He truly believed that using Sylvain as leverage would be enough to gain his freedom and peace once again. 

When Sylvain heard his name, it seemed rather unfitting. A being of legends having a simple name felt wrong, yet, the name fit him more as a person. He needed to stop seeing him as the monster whose stories kept him awake as a child at night, and think instead of how beautiful his name rolled off his tongue. Like the morning dew of the royal garden that gathered on the petals of the lilies. Like the burn of scotch down his throat that made him feel like a boy pretending to be a man. Like the fear of thousands of kingdoms was justified and Sylvain was lucky to simply think of him. Maybe it was wrong to think of him that way, but Sylvain wouldn’t have minded running his hands through that hair and savor the skin instead of the name. 

“Felix…” he whispered. “Well, if I am to die, at least it will not be by a nameless source.” a wry laugh escapes his wrists as he kicked one of the rats that started to eat his cape once again. 

It had been hours. Sylvain’s shoulders went absolutely number, his legs hurt and it was hard to keep his head up. His eyes closed and opened, the candle giving a faint light to the corner of the cell, around three rats gathered around it and the squeaking started to become unbearable. He wouldn’t be able to make it through the night alive, not when sleep felt too far away to grasp unless he passed out from hunger and pain. And making one last prayer to the goddess, the door snapped open once again. 

Sylvain tried to look up, to find the light of the torch that Felix carried last time. He could hear the steps, but his heavy lidded eyes stayed closed, it hurt to simply open them, and so he lowered his head once again. He tried moving, rattling the chains, only for them to dig deeper. Sylvain could feel blood from the cuts digging deeper into his skin trickling down his sleeves. He whimpered, and as soon as the sound left his throat, a scoff was heard. 

“You are pathetic.” he heard his words come out like icy daggers to dig deep into his ego, another wound to add to the many others he received from the dungeons. “Too bad that I have need of you, I wouldn’t mind leaving you to die here.” Felix turned around, placing the torch on the wall once again, his other hand reaching for the keys that sat on his belt. He stepped closer to Sylvain, kicking around the few rats that had gathered around Sylvain’s cell. He started unshackling the prince’s wrists, unaware of how Sylvain tried to edge closer to Felix, his eyes aligned perfectly to a place he should definitely not be even attempting to eye. Why was he desiring him so bad? Why had this witch making him act in a way that was so unlike him. 

“You said,” Sylvain’s voice was hoarse, maybe he shouldn’t have screamed, or maybe he needed clean water. “you have need of me?” 

“Your kind keeps coming up with new languages, new letters, new tongues.” Felix finished unshackling Sylvain’s wrist, and the prince fell to the dirt floor with a loud, painful sounding thud. He started rubbing his shoulders, his throat couldn’t hold its dryness and roughness any lounger, and so he started coughing uncontrollably. “I need you to write the letter yourself, after that, you’re coming back down here, understood?” 

“Y-Yes,” Sylvain coughed out, trying to stand up, yet, his legs couldn’t do much, except give out. Every attempt he made just sent him hurtling back to the floor with a thud. “I understand, I just, everything hurts…” 

“Weak.” Felix uttered before reaching down to grab Sylvain by the arm and helping him stand up. He dragged him out of the call with one arm, barely helping him stand up, but at least he stopped him from falling down. With his free hand, Felix reached for the torch, and made his way towards the stairs, leading to one of the lower halls of the castle. 

Sylvain did his best to walk without needing help, but it was close to impossible, his legs trembled, and his head spun around while every single source of light made him squint and his head hurt. Felix looked forward, doing his best to ignore Sylvain, who placed both hands in Felix’s arms, trying to at least, if he couldn’t stand up, make the burden of carrying him less on Felix’s shoulders. 

As soon as they reached the door leading to the halls of the castle, Felix let go of the torch, putting out the fire. The halls were lit with the many lamps and chandeliers that hang from the high ceilings. 

Felix has put his hair up in a ponytail, it was already nighttime, and even if the nights were colder, his hair started getting sweaty from all the work he had done that day. Keeping it up was better. The only problem was that now he could see Sylvain’s face by his peripheral vision. He could see his hair, the way his cape bellowed behind him. It was a heavy cape, embroidered with the royal crest of the Kingdom, fur at the ends, and with every step they took, it flew behind him. A beautiful turquoise and red and contrasted beautifully with Sylvain’s sun tanned skin. 

Felix shook his head, he couldn’t think this way of his prisoner. Of the prince of the kingdom that proclaimed itself his enemy. “Can you walk on your own?” Felix asked, cut and dry. He didn’t mean to be nice, he only wanted him to stop resting against him. 

“Barely.” mumbled Sylvain. Luckily, he sounded more awake. Their steps echoed against the walls and high ceilings of the castle. They reached a gigantic door, the door to the dining hall. Felix waved a hand to open it with magic, his dominant arm was too busy holding a weak prince. 

He dragged the prince to the main chair. The head of the table had lost all his meaning once he started dining alone, sitting him there would be the most comfortable way to talk to him. As soon as he sat the prince down, he reached for the rope inside his satchel. The rope was originally from Sylvain’s satchel, so Felix took it as his own. 

He tied Sylvain’s arms against the armrests of the chair as tight as he could, and finally the same with his ankles. He heard the prince grumble in annoyance, yet he paid it no mind. He had no time to make sure if the prince was comfortable. He served a purpose, and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Felix stood up, reaching in his own satchel for his book. Dark magic, creating matter. He looked for the simplest of spells, creating food out of thin air. With a wave of his hands and whisper in his lips, a golden and purple mist emanated from his fingers as he pointed at the empty plate of food in front of Sylvain. What looked to be the most delicious dinner appeared in front of the prince. Felix sword he heard the prince’s stomach rumble. 

“Are you hungry, your highness, please; allow me to indulge you.” Felix said with mocking reverence as he reached for the fork in the sides of the place, scooping food in the utensil and raising it up to Sylvain’s lips. 

“Are you going to… feed me yourself?” Sylvain asked, eyebrows narrowed as he looked at the fork and at Felix with a questioning look. “How will I know if it’s poisoned or not?” 

“Number one, if I wanted you dead in this moment, I wouldn’t poison you, I have a dagger in my sleeve for that job.” Felix set the fork back down, now using his free hand to grasp Sylvain by his cheeks and force him to meet eyes with him. “And, even if it was poisoned, you are in no place to deny anything. You will die either way.” Felix turned Sylvain’s eyes back to the plate of food. “Now, behave and eat, I wouldn’t want you to die out of hunger… such a stupid reason.” 

“My hands are tied.” whispered Sylvain. 

“I do not exactly trust you, or your kind.” Felix reached for the fork once again, raising it to Sylvain’s lips. Sylvain was ashamed, being hand fed like this was degrading. Maybe that’s what Felix wanted; to strip him from his pride. To make him feel like absolute garbage before finally killing him. He had no choice. He ate the food, and couldn’t help but hum. 

“It… tastes good.” mumbled Sylvain, trying to find a more comfortable position in his chair, yet he felt the ropes digging into his already bruised and wounded wrists and stopped. “Could you at least,” 

“No.” Felix didn’t even listen to Sylvain’s request. “Now shut up and eat. I need you to be awake and healthy, and apparently feeding you is the only way.” muttered Felix, once again raising the fork to feed Sylvain. Maybe this wasn’t to humiliate him, since Felix looked just as trouble as Sylvain. He didn’t say anything, he just accepted the food. After all, he was starving and in pain. 

“What do you need of me?” Sylvain asked, turning his face to look at Felix, only for him to quickly pushed his face looking back at the plate. “If I may be so bold.” 

“Finish eating and I’ll tell you.” snapped Felix. “You humans tend to be so… impatient. Your life is short and you spend it worrying about what will happen.” 

“I guess, living two thousand years, you tend to forget about the fear of death, huh?” Sylvain looked at his food, now feeling significantly more awake. He could feel Felix taking a deep breath next to him, and then it was back to silence. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. 

He sat, overthinking what he said. He was walking on eggshells and he wasn’t even measuring the weight of his words. While his hands were tied, quite literally, and Felix has just revealed his had a dagger hidden in his sleeve. He took the food and decided to eat in silence, not risking saying the wrong thing again. 

“Fifteen thousand years.” Felix muttered, setting down the fork with a rather loud slam, setting the plate flying. Sylvain presses himself as hard as he could against the chair. “I’ve been alive for fifteen thousand years, and the last two-thousand have been nothing but literal hell.” 

Felix walked from Sylvain’s side and sat in one of the chairs. Felix’s eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes shifted from place to place, but they never met Sylvain’s. He wore crystal necklaces, a black satchel, and a ring with a shining sapphire. His eyes shone like the sunset, even if they burned with rage, and the hair in his ponytail cascaded over his shoulders, creating a beautiful contrast and a clash of colors together with his light robes and dark colored hair. His fingers dusted and brushed over a book he had taken out from his satchel. Sylvain, too focused on Felix’s hands to notice the book Felix has in his hands was the diary of the first king. 

Sylvain paled, and struggled a little against the ropes. “Did- Did you went through my stuff?” Sylvain asked, leaning forward as he, very badly, tried to hide his nervousness. 

“It is not like it bore fruit, I couldn’t read anything.” Felix opened the book to a random page and stared at it angrily. “You changed your alphabet, and it’s unreadable to my eyes.” Felix placed the book in front of Sylvain. “That’s why you will teach me your alphabet. Tell me, what is this book?”

“It is, I, well,” Sylvain sank into the chair, looking down, avoiding Felix’s gaze no matter what. How was he supposed to explain to Felix that this book spoke in detail of the many thinks the king wanted to do to the wish, both out of anger and lust? Was he supposed to start reading and let Felix find out for himself, or should he flat out tell him? “It is the diary of the first king and his… lust and obsession over you…” Sylvain’s voice trailed off, not daring to look at Felix. Yet, without an ounce of hesitation, Felix spoke up. 

“Read it.” 

Sylvain gulped. “‘Third entry. The witch from the west do the forest, a murderous, ravenous animals I would love to tame. Her hair, how I would love to tangle through my fingers and pull until she’s begging for’...” Sylvain signed. “Are you sure you want me to continue? This is not the worst of words this book holds. I’ve read it before and it has made me uncomfortable. The vivacity of,” 

“You’ve read it before?” Felix reached for the book and put it up to his face, squinting at it. “What was the point of changing the alphabet? We speak the same language, yet we don’t write in…” Felix sighed, placing the book down as his sentence trailed off in defeat. 

“Maybe I could write the letter.” Sylvain said, gesturing with his eyes the very uncomfortable ropes tying him down. Felix glared his eyes. 

“And I am supposed to trust you will write everything I say?” Felix closed the book with a snap, his aggressive moves messing with the binding in a way that made Sylvain cringe. That was a two-thousand year old diary and he treated it like come common book found in the bookstores of the town. “No, I was not born yesterday. You will teach me your alphabet, it is easier.” before Sylvain knew it, the so called hidden dagger in Felix’s sleeve was in his hands, how fast did he take it out? Sylvain didn’t even have time to guess, because the dagger was against his throat, making him press his back against the chair, and held back a whimper. “Were you raised so pampered you that a simple dagger to the throat is enough to make you soil your pants?” 

“You forget, it is not terms of the dagger in itself, but it’s about who is holding said dagger.” whispered Sylvain. “I bet a simple dagger isn’t the worst thing you can do, right?” no response, Sylvain stared into Felix’s eyes, stoic and unmoving, watching the prince’s every move. “Do you dabble in dark magic? Is it the only magic you do? The books never specify, but you’re wearing crystals so maybe nature? Light magic? Jack of all trades, huh?” Sylvain let our a soft chuckle. “I like that.” 

Sylvain’s smile disappeared when Felix stabbed the knife into the table, anger framing his expression in a dark mantle. “Are you flirting with me!?” 

“Maybe, yeah.” whispered Sylvain. “I couldn’t help myself, you’re so beautiful.” Sylvain wanted to beat himself up. It was as if he wasn’t controlling what he said. It would’ve been easy to blame it on magic; to say that the witch cast a spell over him and he was being forced to say such things. Yet he had no one to blame but himself and his own inability to keep his tongue in check. 

“Insatiable.” Felix took the dagger once again, but this time, instead of threatening Sylvain, having realized that wasn’t working, started to cut the ropes holding him down. Sylvain watched in silence, letting Felix do whatever, and hoping he did not ruin the situation more than he did. He couldn’t help it if Felix was the most breathtaking man Sylvain had seen in his short life. 

Felix, on the other hand, felt conflicted. He should be angered, offended that the prince would make such advances, to calm him beautiful. Felix should run the dagger in his hands across his neck and end his life right then and there. Yet, he couldn’t help but blush at his compliments. Who was he to come into his castle and dare call him beautiful, look at him with esteem and exaltation gracing his every expression and shamelessly treat him as if he was the prettiest man ever. 

He cut off the ropes from the ankles, making sure not to cut off any piece of clothing or fabric, or to nick a bit of his skin. Maybe he was being too harsh, after all. Once he was done, Felix stood up, and gestured at Sylvain to follow him. “Walk.” Felix let out a grunt before sheathing the dagger inside his sleeve. “We don’t have all day.” 

Sylvain stood up, feeling more alert than before, and followed. Now his eyes drifted up the marble and stone staircase, the elegant chandelier that hung from the hall as soon as they left the dining room. There were portraits of a family, a father, a mother, and two sons. The youngest of them painted a strong resemblance to Felix; but the paintings, they looked decaying. Paint faded as the edges curled in and out of each other. They couldn’t be less than a thousand years old, being held by what had to be magic. 

Gigantic dark wooden doors at every corner, leading to different rooms sylvain had no idea what they held inside, yet Felix paid them no mind. He walked straight down the hall without look at the sides of even behind him, where Sylvain was supposed to be walking. 

Sylvain was close to asking if he could take his armor off. His shoulders aches still, and all the armor did was weigh him down. His fear of being disrespectful held him back, and so he didn’t ask. He slowly started taking off what was left of his gauntlets, letting his wrists breath whatever fresh air was inside the mansion. He looked down, the purple and yellow colored bruises in his wrists alarmed him, the droplets of blood came out of stinging cuts, and he didn’t have the means to care for them, to make them stop hurting. And so he held his gauntlets in silence, and decided to simply ignore it. 

Felix stopped at the end of the hall. Double doors stood in front of them. The other doors were shades of blue and grey, these doors were light brown, white and gold markings. Judging by the way the whole castle presented itself, Sylvain was sure the engravings on the door were real gold. “This is the library.” Felix turned his head to look at Sylvain, giving him a single warning glare. “Do not touch anything in the second floor, understood? In fact, do not go to the second floor.” 

“Ah, yes Sir- Lord, uhm,” Sylvain trailed off. “What should I call you? Is Felix okay?” 

Felix hadn’t had anyone refer to him as Sir or Lord in so long that it felt wrong. It wasn’t him anymore, and so he shook his head. “Felix is acceptable, but keep it to a minimum.” 

“Understood, Felix.” Sylvain smiled brightly, Felix groaned. He pushed the doors, revealing what was probably the biggest library Sylvain had ever set eyes upon. Stacks of books piled on the floor, bookcases so tall one needed the stairs to get to them. Files, are labeled by history, science, fables, and Sylvain wanted nothing but to read them all. 

A set of staircases on the left of the room led to the second floor. The ceiling was the highest, flames danced around it, giving the library a faint yellow light. “Sit there.” Felix pointed to one of the chairs at the table. The table was filled with books, parchment, papers with quills and ink. Plants, herbs, and vials spread all around the table. “I need to look for more parchment, this will take a while.” 

“I’m pretty sure these will work just fine.” Sylvain sat on the chair, his hands reaching for the closest parchment to him and holding it up. The light was so dim he had to squint his eyes to glance at what was written there. The flames in the very high ceiling did nothing except light up where you walked, it was near impossible to read anything. “If only I could see.” 

Felix stood up from his chair next to Sylvain, reaching for one of the far away books on the table. Three seconds of having Felix reach over across him were enough for Sylvain to look at his profile up close. Even if the reason everyone thought Felix’s was a woman was his long hair, Sylvain couldn’t help but want to twist his fingers in his scalp and pull it, he wanted to pull Felix’s head back, to kiss and mark his neck, to grind against him and get him to moan his name as he— 

Sylvain stopped his own thoughts, blushing hard. Why was he thinking all of this? Why was he having lewd thoughts, that ate at every corner of his brain and being? He needed to stop himself before acting on these thoughts, even if he couldn’t help his mind from wandering there. Felix took the book in his grasp and stood back up, finally getting out of Sylvain’s personal space. 

He opened the book in one of the pages, raised his right arm, directed at the curtains, and whispered something too low for Sylvain to catch it. The curtains moved on their own, the sunlight bathing the library in bright rays as he sat back down. 

“You need books to do magic?” asked Sylvain once Felix pulled his chair closer to the table. Sylvain looked at the amount of books in the table and realized that all of them related to magic in one way or another. That some vials contained liquids that were clear and still, while others still bubbled, as if mud had gained sentience and decided to go live in a vial. “I thought it was innate.” 

“For women, yes.” Felix leaned back into his chair. “Women can learn a spell and not need the book anymore. I am not a woman, I need the book for the words to have any meaning to them.” 

“And you are giving this information to me?” Sylvain raised an eyebrow. All he had to do was take the books from Felix’s grasp and he wouldn’t be able to have any power. Inability to do magic meant they would be on common ground regarding a battle; then again maybe not. “All I could do was take the books from you and,” 

“I do not need magic to overpower you.” Felix didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t spare Sylvain a glance either, and it made Sylvain gulp. The certainty in which he expressed it, he was telling the truth and Sylvain didn’t doubt it. 

“Then, why use magic in the first place?” 

“When you’ve been alive for fifteen thousand years, you learn the true meaning of boredom.” Felix crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. “So I picked up the books and taught myself magic.” 

“How have you been alive for so long?” 

Felix turned to glare at Sylvain, “We are not here to question me about my life, grab a quill, grab some parchment, and start writing.” 

The rest of the afternoon was the most nerve racking thing Sylvain had ever experienced in his 21 year old lifespan. Every word he uttered was carefully measure not to insult Felix, he didn’t want to anger him and get sent back down to the dungeons. As Felix wrote along with him, Sylvain could catch whims and whiffs of the smell of his hair, and he wanted nothing more than pin him against a wall and have his smell memorized. He watched the way his fingers held the quill as he typed down the words, learning quickly, not sparing a single second on resting. 

Felix has avoided eye contact with Sylvain the entire afternoon, too focused on his own work, and too flustered at the closeness that started to grow between the two of them as the afternoon went on. Slowly, as the full moon started to rise, the flames in the ceiling started joining together, until they created one gigantic flame, lighting up the library in a way Sylvain hadn’t seen before. The yellow light of the fire danced across the walls, illuminated the floor, and Sylvain was mesmerized. He only ever saw fire in torches, candles, in fireplaces whenever he went out to hunt with his knights. This flame was different. An undying flame, and Sylvain was mesmerized. 

The only thing that was able to snap Sylvain from his trance, was the sudden feeling of a calloused thumb and index finger taking his chin and pushing his face down. Felix had turned around after hours of staring only at the parchment, only to take Sylvain’s face in his hands. It was only a short second, it meant absolutely nothing; because as soon as Sylvain stopped looking at the flame, Felix started working back on his writing, uttering no words towards Sylvain. 

There was silence in the library, the crackling of flames, the scratch of the quill in old parchment, the drops of ink falling back into their pool whenever Felix dipped the quill. So peaceful, yet, so magical. Sylvain felt he could lean back and fall asleep to the sounds, but he stayed awake, he watched as Felix worked his wits away. Yet, whenever Sylvain tried to look at the flame in the ceiling, Felix always found a way to make him stop looking. No explanation as to why, and Sylvain wasn’t about to argue. 

‘Creeeeeaaak!’ the chair in which Felix was sitting on made the most horrible, startling of noises as soon as it was pushed back. Sylvain jumped in his chair, as Felix stood up and walked to one of the boxes in the corner of the room. 

“What are you,” 

“I understand your alphabet enough to write the letter.” Felix sat back down, and with a new bottle of fresh ink, he started writing. 

Sylvain almost forgot that the whole reason he was here, was to serve as a means to an end. An exchange between his father and the witch, for the witch to finally gain its freedom from Sylvain’s cursed Kingdom. Felix didn’t care about him, and he wasn’t special because he was the only man to ever enter the walls of the witch’s castle. He was a prisoner; and as he watched Felix type the letter with fury written in his eyes, it settled deep. It dawned on him, and he felt disgusted with himself. His brain twisting with revolt at his own cursed thoughts. 

Why has he been focused on Felix? Why couldn’t he get Felix out of mind? It was as if he was cursed, tempted at every corner, and he hated it. He had never desired to make a man his like he did Felix. He didn’t understand why, and frankly, he didn’t care. Whether it be a curse, or his own, sinful human desires; he wanted Felix. Maybe he should’ve fought for his freedom as soon as the shackles were off his wrists. He was a fool. A complete and utter fool. 

“Will you really kill me, then?” asked Sylvain. His voice was steady, or at least he tried to keep it steady. Felix stopped abruptly, letting the ink pool in a certain spot of the parchment due to the sudden stop. 

“If they do not come in three days maximum, I will have to end your life.” 

Sylvain’s hands started shaking. Once again, a simple pawn in the plans of others. Yet, he wished that his father failed to follow through. Dying by Felix’s hands felt better than living an entire life in the castle, with the knowledge that deep in the forest, Felix lives his days, alone. No matter what happened, he wasn’t scared of Felix. He felt sorry, he felt pity. “I understand. The consequences of my curiosity led to this, and I accept it.”

“You truly are okay with it?” Felix set down his quill, looking at Sylvain with an unreadable face. “You accept death like it’s not permanent.” 

“I prefer to die here than live and die in the castle, where my responsibilities are to have a political marriage and be unhappy for the rest of my days.” Sylvain looked down at his bruised wrists, his jaw clenching as he tried to contain his anger. His anger at the rest of his life being written for him. 

Felix said nothing, his eyes just trailed down, and he finally caught sight of Sylvain’s wrists. “Your wrists, they’re…” a small pause, “I am guessing those were the shackles.” 

“Your guess would be correct.” whispered Sylvain. “Which is why I make this humble request, please, do not lock me in the dungeons.” 

“I will not.” Felix looked back at the letter, before finally signing it, and leaving it to dry. He stood up and started walking towards the door. “Follow me.” 

Sylvain followed him. Only for Felix to write a few feet out of the library and opening one of the simple doors in the hall. “You will sleep here, it’s a simple room, think nothing of it, I still hate you and your kingdom, but unlike your entire bloodline, I am not cruel.” Felix pushed him inside the room, only to slam the door, and leave Sylvain inside; going back to his own room, trying desperately to forget the fact that he was starting to enjoy the company of the prince.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are appreciated!! Comments even more!! 
> 
> dedicated to: @/wolweroc on instagram


End file.
